Life as the Shinji
by echo42
Summary: In the infinite iterations of the Kaleidoscope, there exists an endless number of human souls, constantly self inserting into the bodies and stories of their favorite characters. So, statistically, one of them's got to end up drawing the short straw. So, this is the story of me. Drawing the short straw. Crossover with entire Nasu-Verse
1. Prologue

Byakuya Matou watched in silence as his son writhed in agony. He looked away, and tipped his drink back, downing it in one go. He shouldn't pity the boy, he knew. The boy was useless. With this, he might become something other than a waste of space and a drain of resources. But, as he looked at the boy, mouth open in a silent scream, bound by chains of runes, he couldn't help but pity him. A father shouldn't be made to watch the torture of his son, he thought idly.

Shinji was useless, and he would always be useless, no amount of magecraft could fix that. There was no need for this, it was only an act of cruelty. He turned his eyes towards his father.

The old man's eyes were locked on Shinji, not even blinking. Byakuya shuddered. Even he admitted his father was an inhuman thing. Extending one's natural lifespan was something that every mage with the capability did. That was unnatural, yes. But not inhuman.

Zouken Matou was something else entirely. He was only a half-step away from the Dead the church fought. He was hardly human anymore. Not just on the moral level, his birth body had long ago been shed, like a cicada. The man was disturbing. He stood unnaturally still. Not moving an inch unless he wills it.

Byakuya tried not to look at his father overmuch. He turned back to his son. The boy's hair was plastered to his forehead, drenched with sweat. His screams had quieted hours ago, from his voice giving out rather than a lack of pain.

Using his good hand, he topped off his drink. He glared at the spot his right hand once was, he lost it in the Fourth Holy Grail War to a man he disliked thinking about.

Kiritsugu Emiya, the Mage Killer. The boogeyman to any magi with a bounty on his head. He cursed his dead brother, not for the first time. It was because of Kariya, and his obsession with that stupid child, that the Mage Killer came to their doorstep. He spat off to his side. Thoughts of the Mage Killer or his brother always managed to put him in a foul mood.

He checked his watch, and looked at the glowing circle his son was bound in. It would only be a little longer now.

* * *

Death comes quickly for those who don't expect it. And I certainly hadn't expected it.

The day I died was a Thursday. It was sunny out, and scorching hot. I remember putting on sunscreen, I wasn't going swimming or anything. I just burn incredibly easily. It's not even funny, by the time I turned thirty, every inch of visible skin would be one big melanoma. The eternal woes of ginger-hood, such is life.

I died quick, at least. It wasn't painful. I think my body just kinda gave up, walking into a semi will do that to a guy. In my defense, there was a clear sign saying 'Pedestrians have Right of Way.' I guess he didn't see it.

Death was strange. I remember closing my eyes, blood pooling around me. I opened them the next second. No pause, no wait, no nine month break. Just 'blink,' and I'm a new man.

As far as reincarnations go, mine could have gone better. I mean, Naruto would have been fun. I probably could have taken over the world if I popped into Harry's head. But no. I didn't get to be the protagonist, I got to be the Shinji.

Ah yes. The Shinji. Not even the Ikari edition, nope, no giant robot for me. I get the Matou version. Yep, the bug family. The rape family. Ah, the Matou. Yes, my second life would be spent among such auspicious company as the Matou clan. Joy of joys.

After the blink, I was, understandably, a little disquieted.

By such, I mean that the first five minutes of my life were spent writhing in agony, confusion, and possibly bug juice. The floor was quite unsanitary.

After my little fit subsided, I closed my eyes, fully intent on passing the fuck out right there on the bug floor.

Sadly, it was not to be. I heard a soft 'whoosh' followed by the feeling of my ribs caving in. It hurt, a lot. I'd never broken a rib in my first life, it was a novel experience. Breathing hurt, the smallest inhale sent shards of glass through the right side of my body.

My eyes slid open, and, through Shinji's eyes, I saw a broken down old man leaning on a cane. Presumably the one he just used to break my ribs. I opened my mouth to give the old geezer a stern talking to, when I felt something new.

Fear.

Pure, unadulterated terror. Fear untainted by reason or understanding. It didn't belong to me, I had nothing to fear, save the old man's cane. But I certainly could over power him, it would be easy, the man had to be a hundred. However, fighting back was never even an option at the time. All my mind knew was terror.

"G-grandfather," my mouth said the words, I don't know why. My grandfather is long dead, and this man looked nothing like him. He looked like someone left Mr. Miyagi in an oven too long, he was all wrinkles and the smell of death.

"Boy," the old man rasped. I couldn't move. My muscles were locked by terror. I didn't know where it came from, I didn't know why, but the fear was certainly mine. That was undeniable. I feared this little old man more than anything else I'd ever experienced.

"What is your name." The words were an order more than a question. And my fear-drenched mind couldn't come up with a response. I only gaped at him, my mouth hanging open. Like an especially stupid fish.

In a movement too quick for a man half his age, he jabbed the cane down on my right side, on my what remained of my ribs. The broken glass exploded, pain replaced fear on the top of my to-do list.

I rolled to the side, the bonds that bound me evaporated. They were gone, and I was free. Granted, all I could do with that freedom was roll over on my left side, trying to soothe the pain. My senses were gone, all I knew was the pain I felt.

A foot landed on my shoulder, halting any feeble attempt to run away, not that I was capable of anything remotely similar to an escape attempt.

I was rolled onto my back by the foot. More agony. Lovely.

The old man's hawkish gaze pinned me in my place. Suddenly, the pain in my ribs didn't seem so bad.

The Fear had returned.

"I asked you a question, what is your name." I still didn't respond. Fear had taken control again. The old man scoffed. He knelt beside me, and jabbed his pointer finger at my forehead.

Suddenly, I understood the fear. I was Shinji Matou. Grandfather had offered me a chance to become the heir. One final chance, otherwise it would go to Sakura. My pride and jealously lead me to the ritual. I was Shinji Matou, first born son of Byakuya, eventual inheritor of the Matou Clan. Except I wasn't.

I was Tim Harris, college student extraordinaire, victim of poor sign visibility.

Who am I? There was a ritual. Ah, how could I have forgotten.

The ritual was called the Past Resonance Awakening. I remember Father, no. Not my father. That blue haired man. I remember that blue haired man walking me through it. It was a ritual to awaken and speak with the past lives of a person. There was a lot of jargon I-Shinji. A lot of jargon Shinji didn't understand, his father had said it wasn't important.

The fear. Oh. I understood the fear. I-Shinji. We, we feared this man. This old, decrepit sack of meat. We feared him…we feared him because he was Zouken Matou. He was Zouken Matou. Shit. He was Zouken Matou, and I was…

I was Shinji Matou. I was the Shinji. Shit.

I was in Fate/Stay Night. Double shit.

And I was Shinji Matou. The disk one villain, part time rapist, and all around douche bag. Triple Shit.

This was bad.

* * *

The man I now knew was Zouken Matou kept his eyes on me, peering into my eyes, hunting for deceit.

"Shinji Matou, Grand-," he interrupted my answer with another jab of his cane. I couldn't roll away this time, he kept me pinned by the ribs. All thoughts fled as the agony of having shards of bone jammed into my lungs returned.

"Your past name. Tell me truthful boy, I can see if you're lying." I didn't doubt it. He was a mage. Shinji knew little of their abilities, only what his jealous imagination could conjure. I, however, was a bit more familiar with the workings of magecraft. Thanks Nasu, you da man.

Granted, I had no idea if he was telling the truth or not, Nasu was a sly old codger when it came to details.

I assumed he could see if I was lying, magic was funky like that. Besides, lying would serve no purpose. I would tell him the truth. In his past life, Shinji was Tim. An unremarkable college student, a muggle. That's all I would tell him.

I told him my name, and that I was a college student, an American, all framed in the past tense, of course.

He was…not happy. He glared down at me. He gestured, I didn't know what for.

Suddenly a man appeared in my line of sight. He had long, blue hair. Huh, blue hair. Strange, must be a magic thing.

I recognized him. From the anime and from my-Shinji's mind. It was Father. It was Byakuya.

He was Byakuya Matou. He was Shinji's father. He knelt by my injured side, and gently laid his hand on my broken ribs. My breathing was failing me.

With a few whispered words and a gentle touch, I felt my shattered ribs come together, straighten out, and finally, begin to mend. It hurt worse than the blows from the cane.

Grandfather loomed over the two of us, I looked to Byakuya, hoping for reassurance. None came.

"What do you remember," he demanded.

I wanted to lie. I wanted to say I remembered nothing, I wanted to make him think the ritual failed, that Shinji is just a nothing, something to be tossed aside and ignored. I tried to lie. But, as I looked into the dead, cold eyes of a man who has lived for centuries longer than both of my lives, I remembered Fear.

"Everything. It's as if I died as Tim, blinked, and woke as Shinji." I said. My stomach sank.

He didn't smile. He wasn't human enough for that. But, he did take on an air of satisfaction, the feeling of a job well done. Shame joined my fear.

"Hmm, it seems as if your mother wasn't a total waste." My mother? Shinji's mother? He had no memories of her, she must have died when he was a child.

Byakuya stopped his work, stood, and looked at his father in understanding.

I, on the other hand, was lost.

I loved Fate/Stay Night. I really did. I played all the routes. Watched all the anime. But Shinji Matou's mother? Who the hell was that? I didn't remember her from Fate/Zero, hell, I only remember Byakuya because Kiritsugu shot his hand off, because Kiritsugu is awesome.

I tried to stand up. It was a mistake. After trying to rise, the muscles in my back, sides, and arms all spasmed. I fell on the ground, writhing in pain. It was quickly becoming familiar, writhing in pain.

Father and Grandfather kept talking, ignoring my agony completely. Hmm. That was bizarre. I just called them Father and Grandfather, even in the safety of my own mind. That's a little bit concerning.

Whoever this mystery mom was, she apparently is important in all of this.

"My mother," I rasped out, my vocal cords suddenly protesting.

I saw Father turn in my direction just as my vision faded to black. I felt my head bounce off of the stone, bug juice-y floor as consciousness fled. Ah, sweet, sweet sleep. How I've missed you.

* * *

When I came to, it was to the sight of a little girl staring at me.


	2. Chapter 1

The warm bed was a welcome relief from the cold stone floor where I first regained consciousness. It was soft, a cozy blanket was placed over me, tucked in tight. I could spent a hundred years in this bed. My ribs still ached, my head was pounding. But, this bed was really damn comfortable.

I knew this bed. It was my bed, Shinji's bed. I slept in it every night, it shouldn't be a huge thing, right? Waking up in your own bed-oh, ow. The pain in my head pulsed like a second heartbeat. It hurt enough for me to free my arms of their comfy prison to massage my temples. My eyes flickered open, only to close again from the harsh light. My brain was screaming at me, I rolled over and pulled the pillow around my head. The room was silent, the lights were off, but my senses were running on overtime. Everything hurt. Every sound, every sight, every sensation.

Staring at the inside of my eyeballs caused me pain.

I knew what was wrong. I don't know how, but I knew. This wasn't my body. This wasn't my brain, and no amount of magic could change that. I was too big for it. I didn't fit right, it was like trying to jam a puzzle piece in the wrong spot. You could get it to fit, but something had to bend, to be warped. So I laid there, curled up in a ball, hoping the pain would stop eventually.

I was so wrapped up in the agony of my own existence, I almost missed the small cry of, "Nii-san."

I risked opening a single eye, and saw a little girl staring at me. Sakura, my sister. I knew her, I remembered every interaction with her, as Shinji. Not from a viewer of the show's perspective, but I remember the experiences as though they were my own. And, I realized, they were. It hit me like a lightning bolt.

I was Shinji Matou.

Oh. Oh, OH!

Duh. I was Shinji Matou. More specifically, I wasn't, then I died, then I was! I was reincarnated as Shinji. My soul was scrubbed clean of every thought, memory, and experience I ever had as the me of before and then it was put in the body of Shinji Matou. I didn't self-insert, I was Shinji, I just didn't remember.

I was always me, the memories were just lost on the trip. Whatever Zouken had done had made me remember, made me wake up! He was probably hoping whoever Shinji was in a past life would be more useful than the current model. Ha. Joke's on him.

I realized throughout my entire realization, I had been staring at Sakura. Oh, oops. This just became awkward. My eyebrows were probably following the path of my astonishment too…

Through the pain I tried to smile at her. She just tilted her head at me, like a curious bird. She was a weird kid, I remembered that too.

My eyes slide shut again, the agony in my brain becoming unbearable. I feel a small hand grab mine, I open a single eye again. Sakura is trying to put a cup in my hand. It's pretty adorable, not gonna lie. I smile at her again, it comes out more of a grimace. Sitting up at that moment is the single most difficult thing I've ever done, but I do it. I hold the cool glass, and try to sip.

That was a mistake. It was probably some magic potion or something, because that was absolutely vile. Urgh, like asparagus and pig's feet. Sakura's tiny hands darts out, catching my head and the glass, forcing me to down the rest. I glare at her with little effect.

Suddenly, my fingers start to go numb. The glass slides out of my boneless fingers, shattering on the floor. Everything is getting foggy now, my vision is becoming blurry. I try to look at Sakura again, she just gently pushes me down on the bed. Oh, I can't feel my body anymore. Like I'm at the dentist, but with magic.

My eyes slide shut again, the pain in my head fades, I don't fight the coming sleep.

* * *

Waking up again was strange. This time, my eyes slid open easily, the only pain was coming from my still mending ribs. I twisted my head around, searching for the inevitable agony, but it never came. I looked to the side, Sakura was gone. There was a glass of water left on the bedside table. I drank greedily, my lips were chapped from dehydration. Once I drained the glass, I fell back into bed, still exhausted from the mind bending agonies that were forced on me. I tried to think of something else, I hated pain, didn't have the stomach for it.

Something was off.

I looked around the room, I didn't have time to examine it earlier, too busy with the whole writhing in agony thing. It was my room. I realized what was different.

I couldn't feel the separation now. There was no jagged tear when the memories stopped being Shinji's and started being mine, they were just mine. But that wasn't right either. Shinji and I had the same soul, we were just two different guys using it at two different times. There was no 'my memories' or 'his memories', just memories. Huh. Weird. Is this what epiphany feels like?

I wasn't the child or the young man, I was just me. I was us. Both? The English language isn't really designed for transferring these ideas. Oh, and I knew Japanese now too. Well, Japanese as far as an eleven year old knew. That's pretty convenient, it beats the hell out of Rosetta Stone. Japanese doesn't help convey the concept any easier.

So, here I am. Shinji Matou, the biggest asshole in the Type Moon universe. Well, there was always Zelretch-OH I BET HE HAD SOMETHING TO DO WITH THIS!

The biggest Troll in the uni-no, the OMNIverse! He had to have done something! I breathed out a sigh.

It was no use really, he was basically as close to a god as a guy could get. And I was Shinji. Not a lot of bargaining power there.

I laced my fingers behind my head. Here I was, trapped in the Type Moon universe for the foreseeable future. I tried not to whimper. Of all the realities, why, WHY did it have to be this one! This was probably the absolute worst place to reincarnate into.

God, I would take a thousand sparkly Edward Cullen's over ONE Dead Apostle Ancestor. The vampires here are SERIOUS BUSINESS. If those guys ever got their shit together and really tried, humanity would be kinda screwed. Like, Land of Steel screwed. Oh god, that's the future here, the Notes. If you haven't heard of it, here's a hint: it's not a good time.

Plus the Counter Guardians, plus Primate Murder, plus the TYPE's, plus all of the other messed up shit that spewed out of Nasu's brain! Urhg, this would be a struggle and a half just lasting until the start of the Grail War.

PLUS THE GRAIL WAR!

There was that unavoidable THING hanging over my neck. Oh wow, I'm realizing just how much I could screw with things. Ha. Maybe Zelretch had a point? NO, bad thoughts, bad thoughts!

Right. I'm an eleven year old Shinji. I'm in a unique position to fix a lot of stuff before it goes so wrong only the Counter Guardians could fix it. And that would mainly involve indiscriminate slaughter.

I need to make a list or something. First things first, Sakura. She's my little sister. And I love her. Shinji loved her. However the pronouns situation works out, there is a great deal of affection there. Zouken hadn't spoiled that relationship yet, and if I have my way, he won't get the chance. Shinji-BA, before awakening, had cared for her at a distance. She was the one with magic circuits, he knew that. It hadn't evolved into jealousy yet, which was good. But he wasn't the world's best brother either. That would need to be fixed, I decided.

God, I really felt for Sakura through the visual novel. A kid pawned off to an asshole that just throws her in the, *shudder*, bug room. And Kariya! That was pretty tragic too, and Sakura's got to carry that with her, all of the time. She's just a kid, nine years old. She shouldn't have to hold that burden. I wanted to help her. Me, the Shinji Matou-PA, post awakening. I want to do everything I can to help her get out of this messed up situation.

But how the hell could I do that! I was Shinji Matou! Genre savvy, yes, magic-less, also yes. Zouken Matou was hundreds of years old. He probably had more than a few terrifying tricks up his sleeves. Plus all those, *shudder*, bugs. But, I couldn't sit and do nothing. Sakura's just a kid. She's innocent, and she needs someone to help her. Kariya failed, so someone's gotta try. Might as well be me.

So, the goal is to stop Zouken and help Sakura. Byakuya was a non-problem. He had few magic circuits and little ideas on how to use them. Zouken was the real problem. And there was no solution in sight, other than calling an exterminator. Ha.

OH! OH SHIT! PROBLEM SOLVED BITCHES!

I forgot, the world's greatest exterminator lived right down the street! And his name was Emiya Kiritsugu.

'Oh yeah, I'm good at this,' I thought, as I, once again, drifted off to sleep.

* * *

The next time I woke, it wasn't peaceful. I woke up paralyzed, molten hot steel was being poured inside my head. I tried to scream, no sound came out. I tried to thrash around, to escape the untold agony, but it was useless. I couldn't move, I wasn't tied up or locked down, my muscles just wouldn't obey. My body just decided it wouldn't move, it was so hot, I was burning. From the inside out, I was burning. I couldn't even scream. That was terror. Absolute pain and no way flee, no way to deal with it. I could only sit and wail in the confines of my own mind. I couldn't even open my eyes to see what was happening.

Was I dying?

An eternity or an instant later, the pain faded. Slowly at first, then rapidly, the agony left me.

Suddenly, my muscles listened to my command. I curled up into a small ball, hiding from the pain. I cried.

"Useless." Dimly, I recognized that voice, it was Zouken, my grandfather.

"How remarkable. Still useless. All that time and resources, all for nothing." Zouken scoffed, I heard his cane strike against the floor as he left, his footsteps were silent. I was alone again.

I stayed like that, crying, curled up in my bed, for a long time.

The reality of my situation hit me. I didn't belong here, and I didn't want to be here. I was just a guy, I wasn't some kickass wizard. I had no special powers, no magic. I was just me, just Shinji.

But I was trapped. Zouken had done something, something that had made me remember my last life. And here I was. Stuck in the body of an eleven year old. I was trapped here, never to see my friends or family again. Even if they did exist in this messed up universe, I couldn't say I knew them. I was Shinji, not the friend, brother, or son that they knew. Maybe there was an alternate version of me here, someone who didn't get hit by a truck, someone who would live to graduate college, have a family, someone who would get to build a life.

I wasn't that person anymore. I was Shinji Matou. The trash of the Matou clan, the useless heir.

I was so wrapped up with my angst-ing, that I missed light creaking of the door as it opened. I didn't hear the small footsteps patter up to my bed. I didn't hear a small, sad sigh.

I did, however, feel the small hand brush through my now-blue hair.

"Nii-San, don't be sad." Sakura said.

I looked at her, though tears of pain and sadness. She was Sakura. The person I had resolved to help, was trying to comfort me. Ha. That's irony, right?

I brushed the tears from my face and smiled a watery smile at her. I reached out my hand to pat her head. She was trying to comfort me, but that was backwards. I wasn't the one who needed comfort. I was a man trapped in the body of a child. She was a child, trapped in a horrible, horrible situation. I was her brother, I had to comfort her.

"Don't worry Sakura, everything's gonna be okay now." She didn't understand, she was young. She didn't know the weight of the promise I just made. But I knew.

I may have lost my friends and my family, but I gained a little sister. A little sister that needed someone to save her. And maybe, she wouldn't have to wait for Shirou this time.

* * *

To answer some comments:

MadoMado- If Prismaverse has PMMM as a show, what would Sakura, Shirou and Kiritsugu think of it?

Sakura would think it's adorable. Those Magical Girls have it good compared to her

Kiritsugu would know that Homura is best girl

Shirou would want to be Sayaka…

Bakarina-

I've never heard of that, it sounds hilarious though.


	3. Chapter 2

Later that day, I found father in the study. He loosely held a glass filled with some kind of liquor. He had cradled the stump that was once a hand to his chest, like a child. His eyes were glazed over, staring at nothing. My memories from before led me to him, he often drank in the study.

I needed to talk to him. There were so many questions I needed answered. So, with the voice of a child, I questioned. I asked him what was going on, I asked him what they did to me, what was in the drink Sakura gave me, why did they do it, would my mind start to degrade, what would happen to me, long-term? In retrospect, I sounded more like a whiny little brat than a reasonable adult.

He kept staring at the wall with haunted eyes. He wasn't seeing me, He wasn't even looking at me. Whatever he was thinking about, it took him a million miles from here.

My soul had travelled down the path of enlightenment before, but my physical brain still had the patience of a child. I grabbed his drink and put it on the table, and with all the righteous fury of an eleven year old, I shouted in his face.

"Say something!"

He looked at me.

Then he slapped me across the face.

Tears sprung to my eyes, more from shock than pain. In all the time Shinji knew the man, he had never struck him. Scolded him, yes, yelled, often, drank too much, near nightly. But he'd never hit me before. Byakuya wasn't a bad father, just a bad man.

He dug the fingers of his remaining hand into my shoulder and looked me in the eye. His eyes were dull and dead, the look of a man with nothing left to give, or to lose.

"F-father," I said.

He shook himself, like a dog coming in from the rain, and his eyes gained a glimmer of life again. He pushed me back, picked up his drink, and went back to staring at nothing.

I looked at him, really looked at him for the first time in this new life. I saw him through my own eyes. Not through a television screen or through the rose-tinted lenses of a loving son.

I looked at him, and I saw a broken man. His once immaculate suit was wrinkled and ruffled. His eyes were bloodshot with dark, heavy bags underneath. His long hair was unbound, fraying, and graying. Wrinkles spread across his face like roads on a map. The man couldn't be older than forty five, but the stitching in him came out. He was a stuffed bear that just couldn't take anymore abuse. He was falling apart at the seams.

On the table was a picture of a younger, happier Byakuya with his arm wrapped around the slender waist of a smiling woman. My mother, I recognized.

There was no use in talking to him, I knew. Byakuya was a dead end. The childhood admiration I felt for the man who was my father died then, a piece of the old Shinji shriveled up in a corner of my soul. I turned and left the study.

* * *

It's truly incredible what a human being can adapt to. Poverty, famine, disease. All can be accepted as the new normal given enough time. Living the life of a fictional character had to be one of the more esoteric circumstances a human can adapt to. But far be it from me to question the power of the human spirit.

Sakura helped, of course. Not directly, but she gave me something to focus on. On the nights she spent long hours under Grandfather's care in the basement, I would stay up, waiting for her to come up those creaky old stairs. When I saw her, her eyes would be lifeless, like a porcelain doll's.

I would hold her, sing to her, and tell her silly little stories. I would try my best to let her be a normal little girl, if only for a while. In the confines of my mind, I'd spew hate and vitriol at the people who put her in this situation.

I cursed Zouken, for defiling this sweet, innocent little girl.

I cursed Byakuya, for letting this happen, for not standing up for her, for drinking all his problems away.

I cursed Tokiomi Tohsaka, for giving up his precious daughter to that monster of a man.

In my darker moods, I even cursed Uncle Kariya, for failing, for not being strong enough, for dying…

I never let Sakura know my feelings about them, I only consoled her, tried to put some life back in her eyes.

Eventually, in the small hours of the morning, after humming, and singing, and talking softly for hours and hours, she'd begin to cry. She's start softly, silent at first, afraid I'd leave or hurt her. She's pick up momentum and just sob and sob. She's bury her face in my chest and curse the names of everyone who's ever wronged her. Zouken and Byakuya and Tokiomi and Aoi and Rin. The amount of hatred and despair in her heart was astounding. I'd just hold her, let her pound her tiny fists on my tiny chest, let her sob and cry, let her speak all of her hate, her fears, and her desires.

When she had exhausted all the hate and anger in her heart, she'd pause. And then, every time, she'd start crying again. This time, not in despair or anger, but in repentance. She was sorry. For the things she had said in the storm of her fury. When she finished crying the second time, she was worn out. She would fall asleep like that, her hands balled up in my shirt, eyes red from crying.

It breaks my heart. Letting this go on. But there's nothing I can do. Zouken is ancient, he helped design the Holy Grail system. The man is a monster among monsters. I doubt the Queen of the Clocktower could take him in a straight up fight, if only because the man would never fight fair, he always had a dozen more tricks up his sleeves.

I'd tuck Sakura into bed and turn off the lights. I went back to my own room, hoping to catch a few hours of sleep before sunrise.

Sleeping in that house was almost impossible. The Shinji of before had never noticed, or maybe he just grew up with it, so he didn't consider it bizarre. But I did.

The skittering.

In the walls, under the floors, everywhere. Late at night, all over the house, you could hear the skittering of bugs. I hate bugs. The sight of them sends shiver down my spine. My skin crawls just thinking of them. And I know they're everywhere.

I never leave clothes on the floor. I never leave food unattended. I always pull my blankets up under my feet at night, for myself and for Sakura.

They could drive a man to madness. Maybe that's what happened to Byakuya.

* * *

School is a thing I have to do now. It's funny, the last go around I wasn't that great of a student. Now? Even with the much stricter standards of the Japanese school systems, I'm top of the class. Ha. Who said I'd never amount to anything.

I walk Sakura to her elementary school every morning. She is always hesitant to let go of my hand when we get there. I've had to dig through my catalogue of motivational speeches many a time to get her to go. The Kamina ones are her favorite.

I attend the local middle school. It's not a bad place. I just happen to be a grown ass man in the body of an eleven year old. The drama and intricacies of the middle school experience happen to go over my head. This leads me to not exactly being the social butterfly that the canon Shinji was.

I have retained Shinji's bishonen good looks, which has been new. Take the bishi looks, add the social reluctance, with those near perfect grades, and you have a recipe for a middle school disaster. I've, through an incomprehensible turn of events, become a school idol on the level of Rin Tohsaka. All by doing absolutely nothing. Japan's a weird place..

It's sort of a hassle though. People are always looking at me, staring out of the corner of the eye. Girls giggle to themselves as I walk by. I find little notes in my shoe locker, which is a thing, honest. It's a hassle and a half. I've considered a career in streaking to be deemed a regular wierdo instead of a sexy wierdo. I'm sure Sakura would love to be known as the wierdo streaker's brother. Ahh, such is life.

Anyway, the curriculum is much easier the second time around. I fly through tests, math is a joke, and don't get me started on English class.

Japanese though…

Little bit tougher. I'm coping though. Anyway, school is boring. Surprise, surprise.

After school, I meet Sakura at the local park. We normally spend a few hours there, better than being in that creepy-ass haunted house. We play on the swings, the slides, anything.

She's still a taciturn little thing, but I can tell she enjoys it. Call it a big brother's intuition.

We always meet at the swings, she gets out a half hour earlier than me, and those are her favorites. I figured there's no harm in her playing by herself for a while.

* * *

Sakura was more annoyed than scared. She was used to pain. Humiliation wasn't anything new. She had been hurt and broken before. Although, never by boys only a few years older than her, that was new.

The three cornered her in the park. Her back was to a tree. They were saying mean things about her, calling her a freak, a wierdo, a doll. They shoved her, kicked sand at her. Sakura didn't do anything, she just stood there, waiting for them to get bored and let her go.

"Hey!" A voice called out. A red blur raced in front of her, arms held out in a wide defensive gesture. Sakura tilted her head. She didn't understand.

"You shouldn't pick on people," the boy said, pointing at them dramatically. The three boys looked at each other in confusion, then sneered and shoved the red haired boy. He didn't fall down or cry out. He scrunched his face up in determination, and held his ground.

The three looked at each other, confused by the freaky kid. Then, one of them punched him in the gut.

Shirou wanted to be a hero. He wanted it very, very badly. So, when he saw three older boys pushing a girl around in the park, he knew exactly what to do. He jumped in front of her, threw his arms out and shouted for them to stop. His Old Man would be disappointed he got in another fight. And his disappointed face was scary. So, no punching, not this time.

Besides, what kind of hero would let a pretty, defenseless girl get beat up? Not Shirou Emiya! Not on his watch!

Sakura was perplexed. Why did the wierdo boy jump in front of her? She wasn't worth it. No matter what Nii-san said, she was just trash, the boy shouldn't let himself be hurt for her. As the boy got pummeled, Sakura stood back, watching and considering.

This...may not have been the young Emiya's best plan. While taking punches so the pretty girl could run away sounded great in theory, in reality, it involved a lot more getting punched.

He was contemplating breaking his father's trust and pummeling those punks like Fuji-nee taught him when he heard a loud war cry, and suddenly, the punching stopped.

* * *

Damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it! Stupid Sakura! Why would wander off! You know these punks hang out near the trees! Grrrr.

Shit, that's definitely Shirou. Not a lot of gingers in Japan. I feel for ya bud. Wait. What is he doing?

Stupid Shirou! Call an adult, don't just let them punch you, you idiot! God... What was wrong with these kids?

It seems like I have to do everything around here. With a loud bellow, I charged the guy beating Shirou like the red headed stepchild he was. The other two were, cheering him on, and laughing from the sidelines. I focused on the guy with the mean fists. I hit him with all of the force my eleven year old body and a running start could muster. Not a lot, really. But the kid was 13, tops. It was enough.

I tackle him from the side, and we're both on the ground, sending up a cloud of dust from the action. I can hardly see, I just start hitting.

Funny enough, I've never actually been in a fight. I've seen the kung-fu movies, but, surprisingly, real life doesn't work like that.

I blindly throw punches at the kid, I'm on top of him, straddling his stomach. He keeps trying to hit me back. Nope. Not after you tried to beat up my little sister.

I'm so focused on beating the living shit out of this little punk, I don't hear the rush of air as one of the kid's posse tackles me from the side.

Oof. Now I'm on the ground and the kid is on top, he keeps trying to punch me in the face. I do my best to guard the hits, he grabs my arms, trying to force them to the sides.

I, thinking I'm clever, let him. He leans in closer to pin my arms, I grin at him, all blood and teeth.

Head-butt ensues.

Okay, ow. Not bright. But he's off me, rolling on the ground and clutching his forehead.

I grimace, that really hurt. I stand up, looking for the next opponent.

I look around, I see Shirou punching the last kid with a surprising amount of viciousness. I smile, good man.

I feel a tap at my shoulder, naturally, I turn around. Shit. It's that first kid, he looks pissed. Before I can blink, he knocks me on my ass with a brutal right hook.

Oh, hello sky. How are you today?

A hand grabs my shirt and pulls me up. And then, like some violent yo-yo, punches me square in the mouth, slamming me into the ground. Bitch.

Pretty sure my nose is broken. Little bitch. He's leaning over me, grinning and bragging about something. I can't hear him over the blood rushing to my head.

I sweep the leg. Daniel–san would be proud. On the ground, we keep exchanging hits, bam, I punch him in the face, he tags me in the kidney. With savage fervor, we keep wailing on each other, neither of us thinking of anything but making the other guy _hurt._ I want to teach this little bitch a lesson; don't fuck with Shinji Matou's sister.

Somehow in our fight, we both end up standing, glaring at each other like a pair of silverback gorillas.

As we stand there, staring each other down in the fight's intermission, a red missile impacts him in the chest.

"JUSTICE!" The missile screams with religious passion. Oh, it's just Shirou. What a weird kid.

I look at the ground around us, dirt and spit and blood. Two guys are down on the ground, whimpering. I go to help Shirou finish the fight.

We fight together like two grinding cogs, we step on each other's toes, get in each other's way, and probably help the other guy more than each other. But it works. The kid had to be almost fifteen, and we, two eleven year olds, take him and his crew _down._

People talk about the evils of bullying and about how it ruins lives, but they don't talk about just how _good_ it feels to punch some asshole until the both of you are bleeding.

The older kid runs off, dragging his friends behind him.

I look at my ally, one of his eyes is already blackening. His face is caked with dirt, and there's a nasty cut over his eyebrow pouring blood down the left side of his face like a faucet. But that hardly matters, because he's got the widest grin I've ever seen on his face. I have no doubt I look the same.

I extend my hand, "Shinji Matou, nice to meet ya."

Impossibly, his grin widens further, "Shirou Emiya, Hero of Justice!"

He, hand to god, finished by striking a super senshi pose. One hand extended to the sky, one resting on his hip. You can't make this stuff up.

Blink. Pause. Blink.

Huh.

I turn and look at Sakura, her face appears blank, but I can spot the spark of concern in her eyes. For me, or for Shirou's mental health?

I look back at Shirou, he's still in the pose. Ahem, I clear my throat.

He looks ridiculous, all scuffed up and acting like a hero. I look at him, feeling the adrenalin wear down and my body start to ache, all I can do is laugh.

He joins me.

So this is how I met Shirou Emiya?

I can deal with that.

* * *

"Nii-san, Grandfather will be upset if he sees you like that."

I frown. She's not wrong. Grandfather, for all of his inhuman insanity, still has the pride of a magus. Seeing his useless grandson wandering around like a 'hooligan' wouldn't score me any points with the old ghoul.

Before I can open my mouth, Shirou pipes up with childish enthusiasm, "You can come to my house! My Old Man's got a first aid kit-with band aids and everything!"

Hmm, I look at Sakura. We've got a few hours until we're expected at home, why not? Shirou and I'll get patched up and Sakura makes a new friend. Plus, I may get to meet the man, the myth, the legend…

The Magus Killer.

Ahem. I hear a cough, Shirou has a sheepish look on his face.

"My-uh. My dad doesn't want me to get in anymore fights, so-he, he won't be happy if I come through the front looking like this," he gestured to his shirt, covered in dirt and blood.

His eyes light up.

"We'll sneak in, like ninjas!"

I don't bother telling Shirou that Kiritsugu would be able to see the bandages on his face, best let him find that out on his own.

I think Sakura just made an exasperated sigh. Huh, callin' that progress.

* * *

Every heartbeat burned. Just existing was agony. The curse that crippled his magic was progressing. He could feel it. The shadowy fingers dug deeper at every turn. He did all he could to stop them, to fight off death, if only for another minute. Not for himself. No, not for himself. He had no fear of death.

Part of him just wanted to end it already.

But he couldn't-no. He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't take the easy way out, not this time.

This was his cross to bear, and he would bear it with pride. He'd keep on going, long after his mind, body, and soul told him to quit. He couldn't give up, couldn't lay down and die. He had someone who depended on him.

Shirou.

His son.

His only tie to the land of the living. Ilya was gone. He knew Acht. That old bastard wouldn't keep her around.

Kiritsugu had made sure the grail war would never happen. He'd seen into the depths of its darkness. He knew it was the ultimate monkey's paw. So he'd done the only thing he could think to do.

Set the ley lines to blow.

No ley lines, no power. No power, no grail. It was that simple. In forty years, when the grail had gotten a sufficient charge, the bombs would detonate. The ley lines, the ley lines would detonate too. The power held in the grail would have reached a near critical limit by then, the bombs going off would lead to a catastrophic failure in the grail. It would explode.

Taking Fuyuki with it.

Ha. The last act of the Magus Killer, razing Fuyuki, a city of seven hundred thousand.

To save the world.

The mighty and terrible Magus Killer, slaughterer of innocents. Hero of Justice.

Kiritsugu Emiya barked out a bitter laugh at his own reflections. He sat on his patio, smoking. The neighbor girl, Taiga, always said he'd get lung cancer from how he went through those things. He knew better. He wouldn't be dying from lung cancer.

It was almost nighttime. Where was Shirou? He sighed. He really, really hoped Shirou would get bored with asking him to teach magic and find some other new passion, as children do. But the boy showed no sign of stopping. He was persistent, Kiritsugu had to admit that.

But he didn't want his son to walk his path. Only death and destruction would lay ahead.

The madness of a magus, Shirou didn't have it. He could see that. Shirou didn't care for knowledge for knowledge's sake. He didn't want power for power's sake.

No. No, his foolish son wanted to be a hero like his old man.

The world was a dangerous place for a magus, and he didn't want to give the boy-

Crash.

In a moment, the old assassin had leapt from his seat and rushed inside. The noise came from-

CRASH.

He ran through his palatial house, only stopping to pull a knife from the kitchen, he followed his finely-honed senses to the disturbance.

Was Shirou hurt? Was there an intruder? Had someone finally found the Magus Killer?

Kiritsugu didn't know, he felt his heart beating double time, the curse sent burning glass through his limbs. The slightest twitch was unbearable agony. But he was Kiritsugu Emiya, he wasn't about to stop here.

If there was someone from the Clocktower in the house…

He mentally prepared himself for the agony of prying open his magic circuits.

Why hadn't the bounded field gone off?

They must have used Shirou to gain access.

The Magus Killer's face lost all emotion in a flash. He was stone cold. There was no terror in his heart, only the drive of a man who knows he's already dead.

It came from the bathroom.

He mentally mapped out where he kept the nearest gun, slowing down for only a moment, he used the kitchen knife to pry open a loose air vent. Fast as a viper, he pulled a massive revolver from its hiding spot.

Only one gun and a kitchen knife? Oh well, he'd been through worse with less.

He charged down the hall, bathroom in sight. He pulled back the hammer, and held the kitchen knife perpendicular to the gun.

He flexed his rotting circuits. This may be his last job, but by go, he wouldn't let another person he loved die because of him. He was sick of the taste of ashes.

His eyes were steel chips as he kicked down the bathroom door.

Huh.

Well.

That was not what he expected.

Three young children stared at the man with wide, terrified eyes as Kiritsugu stashed the gun and knife in the folds of his kimono.

He cleared his throat.

The children were still staring at him. Shirou was fine, if covered in about twenty band aids. Huh, strange.

"Ah," he said, voice flat, "Sorry about that."

* * *

Author's Note:

Wow! I've been super surprised at the responses this story has been getting. Thanks to everyone who's left review, followed, or favorited this story. Much obliged to ya.

I appreciate any feedback, keep those reviews coming! How did you guys like Shirou and Kiritsugu? I figured at this age, Shirou was pretty much a Senshi hero...and Kiritsugu is just one bad motherfucker.

I have big plans for this story...big plans indeed. So don't worry about me abandoning this! Expect updates on a biweekly basis. M'kay? Sound fair?

Any suggestions? Comments? Criticisms? Feel free to leave 'em in the reviews section.

On another note: Blood Blockade Battlefront is airing the season finale after months of waiting! If you've never seen it, do yourself a favor and go on crunchyroll. It's pure gold. The dub is perfection, the animation is beautiful, and the soundtrack is spectacular!

That is all. Have a nice day.


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